


Because Every Hell Deserves A Heaven

by takokun



Category: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac, VASQUEZ Jhonen - Works
Genre: Gen, Short One Shot, he's coming home, not my first work tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 20:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3991345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takokun/pseuds/takokun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vacation time is over, he thinks. It's time to go home, if he even had one to begin with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Because Every Hell Deserves A Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> First published work on this site, not my first (or best) work though. I just really like this series right now. 
> 
> Please be gentle with me~ (-w-)

Because every hell deserves a heaven. 

xxxx

The woman in the alleyway didn’t suspect a thing. The woman who was beautiful was also shallow, and she paid the full price of her ignorance. The woman who was used to be the woman who is, but not anymore.

Johnny wipes his knife clean.

xxxx

Shmee doesn’t tell lies, but surely he did not mean it when he said that Mummy and Daddy hated him? (Hate is too much a strong word, no, it will not suffice.) The opposite of love is not hate, he remembers the quote from somewhere, not hate, but indifference.

Todd suppose he should feel crestfallen as he witness the dots of his childhood connect, but then again, he had long since understood it. Seeing is just believing.

He sighed with reluctant acceptance, head falling back onto his pillow. Below, he can hear his parents intoxicated and arguing incoherently.

“Being a teenager sure is hard work,” he commented absently to Shmee, who agreed silently.

xxxx

The night is young, there is much to be done, Johnny muses. Old habits kick in as he looks to his left, in search of a window that does not exist. A dead gaze settles on the peeling paint, faded from years of neglect.

Vacation time is over, he thinks. It’s time to go home, if he even had one to begin with.

xxxx

Johnny’s house still looks the same from the outside, but if one inspect the elements closely, they can see that despite the run-down state of the building, the hinges of the door had recently been oiled and the doorknob is still as clean as ever. These details may have escaped the gazes of those who look and do not see, but they do not escape the hawk eyes of the man who used to live there.

He frowns. Scrutinizes his house again. The mat has an uneven coating of dust. Footprints. Surely nobody had dared to enter his territory while he was away? Surely they don’t have any reason to do so? Whimsical as some may be, he has good faith that they would at least try to avoid a potentially fatal encounter. Seems like his faith may have been misplaced.

Johnny twists the doorknob. The old oak door swings open silently, its good condition evident. His boots do not make much of a sound as he glides across the dusty floorboards. Follows the footprints to his bedroom, which he hadly ever used to use. (The desk was nice, though, if his memory does not fail him) The door is slightly ajar, light spilling out from the opening like old parchment, faded and coated with dust. That must be his table lamp. Funny, does electricity even work in this house anymore? He peers into the room, knife at the ready. A brand new blade, too, as a twisted sign of respect for the intruder who dares to venture into the lion’s den.

The edge of a bed comes into view, and as he pushes the door open inch by inch, his blanket, still in good condition. Then, as he continued, the back of a body curled into feral position.

Johnny scans the body once over with this eyes. Too large for a child, yet too awkward for an adult. A teenager, then, and a lanky one at that. He slithers into the room, closing the door behind him silently.

_Click. _

The figure stirs and rolls over, one leg kicking the blanket lightly as he awakens. He must be a really light sleeper. Blinks once, then twice, a hand running through tousled hair. “Wha-”

His eyes focus on the man in front of him, leaning against the door with a sardonic smile and a glint in his eye. “I am impressed,” Johnny drawls, “but also irritated.” The man takes in the features of the teen on the bed, still bleary with sleep but growing increasingly alarmed. Raven hair, short and messy. Sharp nose, thin lips. Sweat trickle down pale skin, he had a bad dream, then.

His gaze travels up to the teenager’s eyes. A watery grey, almost a reflection to the dull silver of his knife, as deep as the labyrinth of a basement below his house, hiding secrets no one ever bothered to find out. 

No one would, once he’s done with the kid.

(He feels like he knows those eyes from somewhere.)

Johnny gives the knife a lazy twirl. “Any last words, kid?” The teen draws a sharp intake of breath, eyes wide with apprehension. “U-uh, what’s your name, mister?” he chokes out the words an octave too high, looking as though he is on the verge of throwing up. Surprised, Johnny thought he’d glimpsed something close to… what is it? That seems like hope, but it can’t possibly be. What’s there to hope for, anyways?

“Interesting creature you are,” he replied. The teen holds his breath as the maniac continues, “My name, huh? My name is Johnny, but you may call me Nny. I am going to-”

Before he can even get another word out, the teen exploded with a flurry of half-formed sentences and ill-constructed outbursts, which quickly (and unfortunately) dissolved into ugly sobbing, rendering the former confident man feeling extremely uneasy.

“Hey, uh, look. I’ll make it quick, okay?”

Receiving no response from the teen (except for the continuous cascade of tears), he fumbled with his knife nervously, shifting to stand in a corner instead. Damn, what do he do now? Killing him while he has a breakdown seems kind of rude. He should at least wait until the other has calmed down, right?

This is starting to turn really, really awkward.

xxxx

In the end, Johnny decided on finding tissue to get the teen cleaned up (and stop those god-awful sounds he is making). 

Eventually, Johnny shuffled back reluctantly, holding out a (newly opened, it seems) box of tissue to the currently teary-faced teenager, who gladly accepted the help.

“Look, I-” Johnny started, but stopped. The sense of familiarity is growing too strong for him to ignore any longer. He examines the teen again, this time with brows furrowed in concentration. Seems like he wants to speak, Johnny grants him permission with a slight nod of his head, and he opens his mouth. (Polite, good.)

“I-I’m Todd. Todd Casil, remember?”

Johnny rakes his brains for an answer, but fails to find any. The questioning glare prompted Todd to continue, albeit with a voice laced with fear.

“Uh, Squee?” he bit his lips in distress, staring at the man before him, willing the man to remember. 

The man remembers.

In fact, the man has never forgotten the boy. During the nights he got into a particularly nasty fight, he’d trudge back to his lodgings, but not before casting a forlorn look towards the right of whatever building he currently resides in. When the voices in his head drove him to the edge of a skyscraper or forced his temples against the barrel of his gun, he would think of the boy with the teddy bear, too innocent for the world, so pure and untainted. He refuses to acknowledge it, but he misses the sight of the window, one he has absolute trust in the fact that he would always find it unlocked. Not welcoming, not always, but definitely accepting.

The man stiffens at the torrent of memories flooding through his mind. He wills himself to breathe. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.  
Inhale, speak.

“Squee?” A nod.

“You’ve grown.” A statement, but he gets another nod.

The silence beginning to set on the both of them retreats hastily as Johnny continues with a smirk on his face, “I take what I said back. I’m not going to make it quick.”

At this, Todd’s head snaps up in alarm, trademark eyes growing huge. He flinches when Johnny snorts, “I’m not going to make it quick because I’m not going to kill you, stupid.”

“…Oh,” Todd deadpans, relief flooding through his veins. Seems like Nny has retained that warped humour of his. He sniffs indignantly, “That wasn’t very funny, Mister Scary Neighbour Man.” Johnny notes with slight delight that Todd has grown to be a bit more bold than he used to be.

“Eh, like I’ve said, call me Nny, Squee.”

Todd smiles.


End file.
